Fade Away
by Redlance-ck
Summary: If you could save someone you'd lost, would you?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie awake at night wishing that they did and what I'd do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.

**A/N:** So this idea came about after a round of late night conversation with myself and foxfire141. She basically threw plot elements at me, I screamed incoherently at her, and then tried to string everything together. (Or, Redlance attempts to write another multichapter fic.) There will be spoilers for 5x1. And I will be ignoring some of the 'developments' in that episode. (One specifically.)

* * *

The clock had long since ticked by midnight by the time Myka crawled into bed, exhausted from the day's events and sore from her surgery. She eased between the blankets carefully, wincing a little as the stitches pulled at her skin, and let her eyelids fall shut. Time travel was draining, even before Paracelsus' tweaking had allowed for them to actually slip into a different period. When she'd been dropped into Rebecca's body the shift had been less extreme, she had felt the affects less as time wore on after the trip. But in the few hours between her and Pete's return from Warehouse 9, fatigue had settled in like led weights. Her limbs dragged and ached, and her head pounded as if she'd spent a week binge drinking.

Of course, she found it all thrilling. Having actually been pulled through time and across the centuries, not that she'd allowed herself a moment to appreciate it at the time. Her brain tried to process it all, even as she lay in bed, but the need for sleep was quick to catch her, and she slipped into unconscious alongside thoughts of time travel and the possibilities that Paracelsus had undoubtedly provided them with.

But sleep could not hold her and she awoke less than a handful of hours later, wide-eyed and breathless from a dream she couldn't remember but could not shake either. She threw the covers back from her with a heavy sigh and gently swung her legs over the side of her bed. Her footfalls were soft against the hardwood floor of her room as she crossed it and headed into the hallway, making her way to the bathroom. Once inside she flipped the lock and turned to look at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes had reduced considerably in the last week or so. Stress and worry having fallen away a little at the reassurance of the doctors and, yes, even Pete. Even though his weren't based on any kind of medical training, it had still been nice. Comforting. He'd been there for her every step of the way – even when she hadn't wanted him there – and she wasn't stubborn enough to ignore the fact that she had a lot to thank him for. Likely more than either of them could ever put into words. Although his near sacrifice of the Warehouse and subsequent endangering of the entire world had gone quite a way in explaining just how important Myka was to him.

"Dumbass." She mumbled to her reflection, wry smile curving her lips. She loved him, but sometimes he was an idiot. Turning the faucet, she splashed a few handfuls of lukewarm water across her face and then dabbed at it with a towel. Sleep was not going to be something she found with any ease tonight, her mind was too wired from the events of the day. Too preoccupied with the what if's that they almost didn't manage to avoid. Paracelsus had almost won, had almost changed everything. Had erased their Warehouse and replaced it with a monstrosity. He had reminded her of Sykes in a way. Another man who also hated what the Warehouse was, but had instead wanted to obliterate it. She shuddered. She might not have lived through that time line, had never actually seen the destruction of the Warehouse, but somehow part of her remembered it. Could feel its memory hovering like a ghost. Could feel the phantom flames and the charge of electricity and see the look on H.G.'s face.

Myka blinked and pushed away from the sink.

Those were things she tried not to think about. Tried not to think of H.G. Wells at all. It hurt too much, the wound was still too raw and the emptiness still too fresh. And it was silly, maybe, but it felt like another betrayal. Another lie. Only on an entirely different scale.

Resigning herself to the fact that sleep wasn't going to be a likely option that night, Myka returned to her room to retrieve her house coat and tied it in place before descending the stairs. If nothing else, a cup of tea might help her relax a little. She'd always been a hardcore coffee drinker before, something about being in the Secret Service seemed to require it, but where coffee left her on high alert and wide awake, tea did the opposite. It slowed her down, relaxed her, often turned her contemplative. She had spent many a late night with Helena, talking over a steaming cup, but she didn't think about that as she reached for one now, flicking the kettle on with her thumb. She turned and rested her back against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she stared through the doorway and into the dining room.

Leena had always made the best tea. She managed to get everything just right with such an apparent lack of effort, like she was made for making things perfect. Myka smiled, having no trouble believing that was exactly right, and then sighed. Nothing was the same with her gone.

Once the kettle had boiled and the tea had been steeped, Myka cradled the cup as she moved through the dining area and into the sitting room, intending to curl up on the couch with a book. Except something caught her eye as she passed the doorway that led into the front hallway, something so strange and out of place it made her stall mid-step.

Artie's Farnsworth was sitting on the table in the hallway. She frowned as she approached, wondering why on earth he'd have left it behind. It was one thing for him to forget his glasses, but not his Farnsworth. They'd initially all returned to the B and B to wind down, but he'd left just as Myka chose to retire to bed, claiming his own weariness was beginning to catch up to him. She set her mug down and picked up the device, thoughtfully turning it over in her hands. It wasn't like Artie at all, the thing was usually glued to him – right beside his Marry Poppins' bag – so for him to just leave it didn't make sense to Myka.

Unless he didn't want to be disturbed.

Her frown deepened.

And she wondered, as she slipped out of the housecoat and into her jacket, if this was how Pete felt when he got vibes.

* * *

She didn't exactly race to the Warehouse, but since there wasn't exactly a speed limit for their little slice of dirt heaven, she felt like sixty was a pretty acceptable speed to go. The tires chewed up gravel as she hit the breaks, sending a few pebbles spinning to ricochet off the metal structure of the Warehouse. She unclipped her seatbelt and carefully held it away from her stomach as she let it retract back into position and slipped out of the car.

The blinding white sterility of the umbilicus made her think about the alternate version of Warehouse 13 and she quickened her pace as she neared the door to Artie's office, impatiently waiting for it to unlock and allow her entry. When she finally made it inside her eyes went to all ends of the room but found no sign of the older man. Not that she'd expected to. Her gut was telling her that she already knew where he was. What he was doing. Why. She swallowed against a twinge of pain in her abdomen and pushed on, heading out onto the catwalk and descending the stairs to the Warehouse floor. It had taken her the better part of her first year to even come close to getting used to the layout. Figuring out what aisles started where and how everything was organised. Leena had tried to teach her on multiple occasions and Myka, who had always prided herself on being a good student, had grown increasingly frustrated when she couldn't seem to grasp it. But Leena had only smiled at her, told her it would all come in time, and she'd been right. So it didn't take Myka long to wind herself through the vast number of shelves and land herself at the place where she and H.G. had once saved the Warehouse.

Artie was there, fiddling with the time machine. Her eyes scanned the arrangement of artifacts that Paracelsus had set up as she approached, quiet so as not to disturb the man just yet, and she watched for a few heartbeats. And she'd known, even before arriving, but somehow seeing it made her heart ache all the more.

"Artie." He stiffened, hand hovering near the lever, but he didn't immediately turn to her. She could practically see the cogs in his brain turning, working for some explanation or excuse. "What are you doing?" Finally settling on the truth. He spun, coat tails waving with the motion, and when his eyes found hers the pain inside her flared. He looked helpless and a little lost, and he opened his mouth to speak but no sound other than a heavy sigh would leave him. He lifted his hands and then dropped them, defeated, eyebrows drawn down.

"How can I not?" He finally asked, but she could tell by his expression that he wasn't really looking for an answer. She wouldn't be able to give him one even if he was. He jerked his head to the side, indicating the time machine, and she watched as the light reflected off the tears in his eyes. "How am I supposed to sit here, knowing I can bring her back, and not do anything about it?" He shook his head. "I'm not that strong, Myka." She tried to smile at him, but it wavered at the edges and fell short.

"Artie..." She moved closer, rounding the sundial and only stopping when she was close enough to rest her hands on his shoulders. She didn't want to speak the words, didn't want to do anything other than let him go through with it, but he'd taught her well. "Just think for a second. The changes-"

"I don't care!" He boomed, cutting her off in aggravation and anger and instantly regretting his tone. But not the words. "I don't care." Softer, more controlled, but he was slipping away and Myka didn't know how to hold onto him. "What would you do? If you knew you could save someone you love?" She knew the answer even before he'd finished the question. She couldn't argue with him, not about that. Because she knew if she were in his position, she would do exactly what he was doing.

"Anything." She said, brow creased and eyes sad. And he knew.

"Thank you." He whispered, backing away from her and turning back to the machine. She wondered what he was going to do. How far back he'd go, what he'd all change. She wouldn't remember of course, the shift in time lines would see to that, but she couldn't help but be curious. A thought occurred to her.

"The astrolabe," she started, and the words felt dirty in her mouth. "Are you... will you reverse that?" He fiddled with a button on the machine and the silence that followed her question was deafening. In that moment, there was no way to stave off thoughts of H.G. Wells. Of what not turning back time that day would mean. Helena would be dead, Mrs Frederic would be lost to them and the Warehouse would be gone. Her heart pounded as she waited for his response.

"No." And the held breath left her in an audible whoosh of air. He was shaking his head at her. "No, I won't go back that far. Only far enough to stop..." he paused, seeming to struggle, "myself. Nothing else." And he paused again, turning to face her once more, wearing a sad smile. "I'm sorry for the things I'll say." Unexpected emotion rushed at her as she remembered what he'd said to her and to Pete. How much it hard hurt even though she knew it wasn't really Artie. Not really what he thought or how he felt. But it had looked like the man who played a father in their lives and that was enough to make it hurt.

"That wasn't you." But he shrugged as though he didn't believe her and finally reached for the lever again. The portal swelled to life before them and for a long few heartbeats they both simply stared at it. "Don't get lost." She warned him and could almost hear his smile.

"I'll try my best."

* * *

Myka blinked open heavy lids and grimaced against the sunlight streaming in from between the curtains. She lifted a hand to cover her eyes as she closed them again and let out a groan. She felt like her head was filled with rocks, only live ones, with teeth. After a few moment of forced stillness, she tried again and this time managed to keep them open. Time travelling was all well and good until the next morning. She let loose a sigh and curled her finger around a few strands of hair as she thought about the previous days events.

It was crazy. Paracelsus had done something amazing – for all the wrong reasons but still – when he'd combined the artifacts with the time machine. They'd been able to go back, to any date they chose, and change the course of history. And he had, though that had been for the worse, and lying awake Myka couldn't quite stop her thoughts from drifting to H.G. How she'd take the news, what she would do.

She sighed and shook her head, then instantly regretted the motion. Those thoughts were too heavy for first thing in the morning.

Once she'd left the warm embrace of her bed, Myka showered and dressed and descended the stairs to the lower level of the B and B. She could hear Claudia and Steve playfully arguing over something in the dining room and entered the sitting room in pursuit of them, as well as the smell of bacon.

"Dude, if you even think about taking the last piece I will stab you with the butter knife." Claudia was glaring at him evenly and his narrowed eyes were something akin to concerned as he cocked his head.

"Why aren't I getting a lying vibe off you right now?" Claudia smiled, sly and dangerous.

"Because I'm not lying." Myka chuckled and they turned their attention away from each other to look at her, Steve still wearing a startled deer expression. "Tell him, Myka."

"She's not lying." She obliged, dropping into a seat at the table and reaching over to pluck the last strip of bacon from the plate, mischief twinkling in her eyes. Claudia gaped at her.

"Oh no you did not." Myka only nodded, humming in the affirmative and she chewed a little more obnoxiously than was the usual for her and more in line with Pete's table manners. Behind them they heard the front door swing open and closed and Claudia caught sight of Artie waddling in, not even bothering to stop and take off his coat and hat.

"Look, if there's going to be a girl fight can you let me know ahead of time so I can leave? They make me squeamish." Claudia laughed at him, clapping a hand against his upper arm.

"If you were any gayer Jinksey, you'd be made of glitter." She turned back to Myka as Artie jerked to a stop at the table, looking around with wide eyes. "Don't you think I'm letting you get away with this either." She said, waving her fork at Myka. "There is going to be hell to pay when you least expect it."

"Ladies, if I have to break up any fights there isn't going to be bacon in this house for a very long time." Leena said with a smile and a flourish as she reached for the empty bacon plate and lifted it from the table. "Morning Artie." She waved at him before disappearing back into the kitchen and Claudia watched as he kind of swayed on the spot.

"You okay there, weeble?" He didn't answer, didn't even look at her. She furrowed her brow. "Artie?" He started at the sound of his name, eyes swivelling in his head to stare at her.

"What? Yes. What?" He barked, all rough edges and brisk bluster.

"You looked like you were about to keel over."

"I'm fine." He barked, but it was softer than usual and entirely too weird for Claudia's morning. "Hurry up," he gestured to the table, still littered with food, "there is actually work to be done." And with that he was gone, just as quickly as he'd arrived.

"His cheeriness really makes my morning, you know?" Steve mused aloud, pulling smiles from the two women.

"He's a charmer." Myka said, reaching for the eggs.

"Who is?" Pete's question came under the heavy blanket of a yawn and was barely discernible. So much so in fact that she felt the eyes of her team mates fall on her as they waited for her to translate.

"Artie." She explained, buttering a slice of toast with Claudia's would-be weapon of choice. "He's like a bear with a hangover." Pete groaned as he dropped into the chair beside Myka and let his head fall into his hands.

"Please don't use that word. I haven't felt this '**that**' in a **long** time."

"Aww," Claudia pouted from across the table. "Does Petey have a wittle time travel hangover?" He rubbed at his face.

"What did I **just** say?" Suddenly, his hands fell away. "Do I smell bacon?"

* * *

True to his word, Artie found work for each and every one of them, informing them of their task for the day the second they entered the office. His mood hadn't changed much since his appearance at breakfast, he still barked his orders but it was with a detached kind of gruffness that made them all eye one another curiously, but no one said anything to him.

Claudia was left 'chained to the computer like a trained monkey' - her words - while Steve was banished to the far corner of the Christmas aisle to take care of a few artifacts that had been 'acting up'.

"Just don't accidentally touch any brushes." Pete had warned him, a serious edge to his voice that had Myka and Claudia side-eyeing him with raised eyebrows. He refused to acknowledge them, instead turning his attention to Trailer who he petted with over-exuberant enthusiasm before the dog ran off after Steve.

Myka was sent to do inventory in the sports section and Pete had begged and whined until Artie agreed to let him go with her.

"Oh ho ho." Pete said from somewhere behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find him playing with the inventory screen for one of the artifacts. "Michael Jordan's Sneakers!"

"Pete." She warned, and he could practically see the mental finger wagging she was giving him. He looked at her, eyes wide and pleading.

"Mykes! They let you see cartoon characters!" She glared at him.

"No."

"But-"

"No." He pouted, an actual grown-man pout, and stomped his foot like a five year old. She twisted her lips, pursing them in an attempt to stop the threatening smile. If she encouraged him, it would only make him worse. Grudgingly, he moved away from the shelf in a conscious attempt to control the temptation.

"My head still hurts. And are we ever going to talk about the fact that the neutraliser is probably giant purple bird poo?" He groaned a moment later and she allowed herself to smile at that. "This time travelling crap can really mess with you." She hummed her agreement, scribbling something down on the inventory sheet she was holding. She didn't feel near as bad as he seemed to, though Pete had a habit of turning a bout of sniffles into the bubonic plague, but she was feeling effects similar to the last time they'd jumped into the past.

Even though they'd been in different bodies then, she'd felt the same bone-deep strangeness that she felt now. As if she were adjusting to being back in her own body or, in this case, her own time. She'd spoken about it with H.G. the evening after that first adventure and the other woman had revealed that she had felt similar after her own travels.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realise silence had fallen until Pete spoke again.

"I know what you're thinking." She looked up from her clipboard and turned her head to look at him. He was wearing a sad smile, but it was one that was weighted with understanding. Knowing. "Sam, right?" The name tugged violently at Myka's heart. And it was startling at times, how far they'd come from arguing over protocols and name pronunciation. She flashed him a weak smile in return, but didn't quite trust her voice enough for words. He walked over to her, hands buried in the pockets of his Puscifer jacket. "Figured with everything it had probably crossed your mind." She let out a heavy sigh and set the clipboard down on the crate she was standing beside.

"Kinda hard not to think about it." He hummed aloud, nodding, and something in the motion sent off a spark in her brain. She instantly berated herself. "Your dad?" His nod continued through the question, slightly more emphatic towards the end of it. She sighed again and rubbed at the back of her neck with a hand. "Claud's probably thinking about her parents."

"Jinksey's sister." They'd all lost people. People who could now, in theory, be saved. "I wonder how much would be different?" She looked at him, saw a little boy reflected in a grown man's eyes, and felt his pain. Time paradoxes were messy things and they'd all heard about what could happen if you stepped on a butterfly in the past. You could land back in the present to find out cryogenic freezing had been perfected and Hitler was King of the world. There was a lot to go wrong. Still, the temptation was there, almost overwhelming.

"I don't know." She murmured, a small frown creasing her brow. If Sam hadn't been killed, would she have ever been called to the Warehouse? Artie always said that the people who were meant to be there would end up there regardless, but Myka wasn't so sure. She and Sam might have been married by now, maybe thinking about kids. She had thought they'd be together for the rest of their lives.

"I'd probably still be here." Pete said, as if reading her mind. "I wonder what my dad would say about me and mom both being involved with the Warehouse." He smiled as he spoke, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. They were quiet for a few moments then and Myka worried her lower lip as she thoughts. Pete watched her silently, trying to gauge her expression.

"I was thinking, last night..." she rolled her eyes and let out a huff of mirthless laughter, "was the first thing I thought of when we figured out what Paracelsus was doing actually." He stayed silent, waiting for her to find her words. "H.G." She didn't need to say any more and he really should have been expecting it. Still, it knocked the wind out of him a little. The implications and possibilities that the woman's name carried.

"Oh." He finally said through a loud exhale. "Wow." She flashed him a quick, uncertain curve of her lips.

"Yeah." And he wasn't sure what to say after that. Wasn't sure what there was to say. He couldn't begin to imagine what the inventor's reaction to this might be. Myka had always known her best.

"You think we should tell her." And it wasn't a question, though he was sure Myka would already know the answer if it had been.

"I don't know." Even if she didn't know that herself. "How can we not?"

* * *

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up here, uncertain of the exact route and steps she had taken, but she knew why. What had started out as vague thoughts that she had tried to keep at bay for most of the day had turned too loud for her to keep ignoring. Especially after her conversation with Pete.

She approached the main console of the time machine and reached out to run gloved fingers over its front with something akin to reverence. H.G. had laboured for years to perfect time travel, had put her blood, sweat and tears into the machine's construction. But she'd never managed to do what Paracelsus had in a single afternoon. And maybe he'd had a few more years to think on the possibilities. Maybe his mind was that much more twisted. She didn't think either of those things would make it any easier for the woman to accept.

She knew H.G. would feel cheated, defeated. She knew that the omnipresent hollowness inside of the inventor would flare to life and try to swallow her, again. And part of Myka didn't want to tell her, in case it pulled her back into darkness.

She ran her hand over the lever and remembered the last time she'd spoken to H.G. about Christina. The last real conversation they'd had about her. After Yellowstone, when the other woman had been little more than a hologram and yet had somehow managed to become more to Myka than she herself had realised. A quiet moment hidden in the aisles of the Warehouse, away from other prying eyes and ears. Away from any Regent hands that might take the sphere away from her before she was ready.

Myka Bering, liberator of magical projector balls and rebel rule-bender, but only where H.G. Wells was concerned.

Of course, she'd already made her decision. It was no longer a case of 'if' she'd tell H.G. about these new developments, but rather 'how' and 'when'. She moved to the sun dial and let her eyes roam its surface. The idea of keeping this from the woman opened up a black hole inside Myka that was so vast and filled with guilt she could barely breathe. It was like a vacuum. It couldn't be done.

Her gaze wandered over the rest of the artifacts that Paracelsus had assembled and she let out a sigh before turning and disappearing into the aisles.

* * *

Artie reached over to thumb the power button on the computer monitor and watched as the screen flickered to black. The day had been long and arduous for him; he had thought some time alone with Claudia might have mend their fractured relationship, give them the opportunity to talk. For him to explain. But his surrogate daughter had been less than cooperative when he had attempted conversation, instead choosing to focus her attentions on snide remarks and freezing him out. Every time he tried to explain, again, why he had kept Claire from her he had been met with either stony silence or a sharp tongue. And it was hard to apologise when he believed he had done the right thing. Claudia didn't know, couldn't understand how dangerous her sister was, and he couldn't make her see sense if she wouldn't listen to him.

He straightened and ran a palm over the tight curls of his hair, heaving a sigh. They'd work through this, they'd find a way. They always did.

His eyes scanned the office, slow and methodical, as though he was forgetting something but couldn't quite remember what. And he almost jumped out of his skin when his gaze caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway that lead out onto the balcony. His hand dropped from his head to rest against his chest and he drew in a ragged breath after letting out a rather inelegant yelp of surprise.

"Sorry." Myka said, lips turning up in a small smile. He shot her a glare, but it lacked any serious malice, and finally dropped his hand to his side.

"I thought you left with everyone else." The rest of the Warehouse team had retired to the bed and breakfast over and hour ago, the promise of home made cookies drawing them back in a hurry that had very nearly turned into a stampede.

"Yeah," She looked down as she entered the office, almost watching her feet as she walked and only looking up again when she was in front of Artie. "I was um..." The sleeves of her shirt were too long and she twisted her fingers beneath the cover of them as she tilted her head to one side, rolling her tongue over her lower lip. "I was looking at the time machine." Artie stilled and stared at her. Waiting. "I think we should tell H.G."


	2. Chapter 2

Artie stared at Myka, silent, for a long moment. Long enough that Myka began to question whether or not he'd heard her, despite knowing that he had. She shifted on the spot, uncomfortable with the quiet and his unfaltering gaze, and when she could finally take it no longer she spoke again.

"Artie." Just loud enough to bring him back from wherever he'd gone. He blinked at her a few times in rapid succession and his mouth opened and closed twice before he could push any words out.

"I know that..." He turned away from her slightly, shuffling a stack of papers that lay on the desk beside the monitor into a tidy pile before picking them up. "I know that you want to help Myka, but-"

"She needs to know about this, Artie." And the determination in her voice pulled his attention back to her. Her face was set, expression shadowed and resolute. "This isn't about helping. This is about doing what's right. If she knew what Paracelsus was able to accomplish-"

"Then what?" She bristled at the barked interruption, folding her arms across her chest but standing her ground. "We let her go gallivanting off back to the eighteen hundreds to alter the course of history?"

"It's the right thing to do." Truth be told, he'd always admired her stubbornness. Right from the moment she'd set foot in South Dakota. He'd admired the way she'd climbed a mountain of manure and how she'd made an impulsive wish using a kettle even before she'd believed that such things were possible. He had admired the things she had done to escape the Warehouse and the things she'd done to stay. And really, he should have expected this. Not that it would have made it any easier.

"It's not as simple as right and wrong." He gestured helplessly with one hand before running the palm over his hair again and she frowned at him. A gentle creasing of her brow that pulled at him.

"What would you do?" She asked, tone low and close to broken. "If you could save someone you love?" He felt his heart seize, something like a mix of dread and sorrow being pulled through it like razor wire. He looked at her through the eyes of a father then and saw a daughter in pain. Unable to stop herself from wanting something that went against everything she'd learned and he knew how difficult that was. To want something so desperately you didn't care about anything else.

And it wouldn't be an easy decision. There were a lot of things to consider. But just like everything else, they'd figure it out together.

* * *

Myka was the first one down to the dining room the next morning, another night of fitful sleep making an early riser out of her. She had showered and dressed almost in time to meet the sun as it rose over the back garden of the bed and breakfast, and by the time she made it downstairs Leena hadn't even begun to get things ready for breakfast. The woman glanced over her shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps and she met hazel eyes with a small measure of surprise.

"You're up early." She commented with a smile and Myka returned it with a tentative one of her own, too caught up in the thoughts that had smothered both her sleeping and waking hours for anything more than that. "Trouble sleeping?" Myka twisted her head to the side with a nod, stretching out a kink in her neck and not paying attention as Leena gave her a quick once over. There was a pause of silence as Myka sat down at the small circular kitchen table. "You're thinking about H.G." She said, rather abruptly and entirely out of left field in Myka's opinion, and the agent stared at her wide eyed for a heartbeat.

"How did you know?" Leena's smile was gentle as she turned back to the boiling kettle and opened up the cupboard above it, pulling down two mugs and gesturing towards Myka with one of them. She nodded and Leena set them on the counter.

"Your aura." She said simply, dropping a teabag into each cup. "The colour changes whenever you think about her." The knowledge unsettled Myka a little, that she could be so transparent to someone. "I don't mean to pry." Leena's tone was apologetic and Myka realised that her silence was likely being taken the wrong way.

"No, I know." She assured the other woman, and she did. It wasn't something Leena could turn off. No more than Steve could shut down his internal lie detector or Pete could stop his vibes. She just read you without looking. "What colour is it usually?" She asked. Leena seemed to ponder over the question as she poured water into the cups.

"It's kind of difficult to put into words." She said after a moment, reaching into one of the draws and retrieving a spoon. "There's usually a mix that's dependant on the person and it makes a colour that isn't really..." she made a face, "named." Myka smiled at the explanation. "But if I had to give one to yours, usually it's turquoise. Mostly." She took out the teabags and dropped them into the garbage can before lifting a mug in each hand and turning to the table. She set one down in front of Myka and took the seat across from her with her own.

"Thanks." Myka said, cradling the cup and rubbing her thumb back and forth over the smooth porcelain of the handle. Leena waited. "How does it change?" She asked after a moment of quiet and Leena sipped her tea thoughtfully before speaking.

"It becomes..." she paused, searching for the right word to describe what she saw, "streaked. With purples and gold. The foundation of the colour changes almost completely." Myka wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but a question rose unbidden. One that she knew would nag at her until she gave it voice.

"What colour was H.G.'s? When she was here?" Leena's eyes met hers, unflinching if not a tad apologetic. As though she wished Myka hadn't asked.

"Mostly purple." And for a second, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. "Sometimes there would be heavy spots of red and black. Unless she was with you. Then it was streaked with turquoise." And Myka couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could hardly form thoughts. For that moment, she ceased to exist. And she still didn't know what it meant, but she had an idea. And beneath everything else, it hurt. "I'm sorry." Leena frowned at her and the regret in the expression jerked Myka back into existence. "Should I not have-"

"No." She interrupted, lifting a white-knuckled hand from her mug to wave it dismissively. "No, it's fine. I asked." Her smile shot for reassuring but fell short, something that did not go unnoticed, and Myka didn't know what else to say. So she reached across the table to give the other woman's hand a squeeze. And Leena's smile returned, though it was a little less bright.

They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes after that, a host of questions being birthed only to find a swift and silent death in the quiet of the kitchen. Leena finished the last of her tea and stood.

"I guess breakfast isn't going to make itself." Myka smiled up at her, eyebrow cocked.

"Pretty sure Pete thinks it does." Leena gave a laugh as she turned away, placing the cup into the dishwasher and starting on the food. "I bet there's an artifact for that. Would save you a lot of trouble." Leena hummed thoughtfully.

"But it would probably make anyone who eats the food turn into Henry the Eighth. We'd end up trying to take each others heads off." Myka hiccuped a chuckle around a mouthful of liquid and then nodded her agreement.

She remained in the kitchen a little while longer, making small talk with Leena as she helped prepare breakfast, until she heard the main door to the bed and breakfast click open and closed. She made her apologies for not helping more as she edged towards the door and Leena shooed her away, surprisingly non-threatening even with a knife in her hand.

As she'd suspected, it was Artie. Myka approached him with a sort of slow apprehension, hanging back by the dining room table and waiting for him to notice her. She waited as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it against the wall, then turned and entered the sitting room. When his eyes found hers an expression that she couldn't quite describe flashed across his face. But it only lasted an instant. His gaze dropped as he walked over, swinging his briefcase up and onto the table. Myka waited. She waited until she was sure he wasn't going to speak unless she asked him to.

"Artie?" He paused as he was popping the clips, then resumed before looking at her again. "Did you-"

"I talked to them." He said, his tone making Myka's stomach churn violently. Artie sighed, heavy and harsh, and turned to face her. "There's a lot to consider, Myka." Myka felt her hackles rise, as though the action were a tangible thing a person could touch.

"Like what?" She asked, an edge of ire to her voice that made Artie's eyes flutter closed as he readied himself for what was coming. "Like how we could help H.G. save the life of her daughter? How we could help her mend herself in the process?"

"And what about all she's done to help the Warehouse?" He asked, temper straining beneath his tenuous control. "She's helped saved thousands of lives, Myka. The Regents, they can't justify risking that to save the life of one person."

"A child, Artie. **Her** child." She argued, belligerent and certain, as though she'd thought through every possible argument he might throw at her. "There are things we can do to make sure we still save all of those people, I know it." She levelled her gaze at him then, jaw set and head high. "What if it was Claudia?" He glared at her.

"Myka-"

"Or Vanessa?" His jaw clamped closed with an audible click. "I know you, Artie." She said, voice more gentle now. "You'd do anything to save them." He let out a deep breath and reached into his briefcase. His fingers closed around an envelope and he lifted it out.

"I know." And he did, couldn't argue with her on that. "Which is why," he tossed the envelope onto the table and it slid until it hit the edge of the chair she was standing beside, "I brought you this." She lifted it from where it lay and thumbed open the lip, sliding out the contents.

"A plane ticket." She glanced up at him. "To Wisconsin." He nodded. They stared at one another for a handful of heartbeats, before she strode forward and enveloped the short man in a hug. "Thank you." He awkwardly patted her back and waited for her to pull away.

"You leave at four." She eased back and released him, clutching the ticket like a lifeline. Her lips trembled as she smiled and the glassy quality to her gaze made him uneasy, so he turned from her and busied himself with arranging the non-existent mess in his briefcase. He didn't look up again until he felt a hand on his forearm, stilling his pointless motions.

"Thank you." Myka repeated, and the sincerity in her voice almost undid him.

* * *

When she packed for a mission, Myka was always sure she was prepared. Even if it was intended to be a quick and simple snag and bag, she always packed as though it might potentially turn into an overnight excursion. Better safe than sorry; one of the lessons her father had instilled in her that still remained. She folded an extra shirt and set it atop the dress pants she'd placed in the suitcase just as there was a knock at the door.

"Come in." She turned to look over her shoulder as it opened and Pete stuck his head around the side of it.

"Ready to go?" He had offered to drive her to the airport so she wouldn't have to leave the vehicle they usually used parked at a lot until she returned and she glanced down at the contents of the suitcase before nodding and zipping it closed.

"I think I have everything." She could hear him shuffling behind her, heard the dull thud of his form hitting the wall as he dropped to lean against it.

"But are you ready?" She sighed and turned around, sitting beside the case on the edge of her bed and levelling him with a look. He flashed her a smile that let her know he wasn't going to just let this go.

"No." She said honestly, letting the vowel linger on the breath she blew out. Her hand went to her hair and she pushed it back out of her face. "I have... **No** idea what I'm going to say to her, Pete." He kicked the toe of his sneaker against the hardwood floor, looking a bit like an unsure schoolboy with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hey H.G., guess what? Physical time travel, not so impossible anymore." He offered with an attempt at a wry smile but he couldn't quite pull it off. He shrugged an apology. "Guess that's not really your style."

"Not so much." They lapsed into companionable silence for a little while then, Myka looking for her courage and Pete patiently waiting for her to find it. When it finally appeared as though she had and she stood, he moved forward and grabbed her case from the bed before she could. She frowned at him and he gave another shrug, muttering something about how she shouldn't be lifting things and she didn't have the energy to fight him on it.

The majority of the car ride to the airport was quiet, their silence broken only by foreign radio voices and the sound of Pete occasionally strumming his thumbs against the steering wheel in time to whatever song was playing.

"Am I being selfish?" She asked suddenly and he took his eyes off the road only long enough to glance over at her.

"What are you talking about?" She didn't look at him, remained staring out of the window as she spoke.

"Doing what I'm doing. Flying out there to drag her back into Warehouse business after she's tried so hard to escape it." He flicked his indicator and swiftly shifted lanes, following the signs for the airport without consciously paying attention.

"It's not like you're doing it just to bring her back into the fold, Mykes. She needs to know about this, you said it yourself." She absently chewed on her lower lip as she considered his words.

"I know." She said, but she didn't sound sure. "But she said she was happy. What if I tell her, get her hopes up, and then something happens that shatters everything?" He sighed.

"It's a risk, yeah." He admitted and saw her wince in his periphery. Not the answer she was looking for, but he'd always tried to be honest with her and she knew that. "But I think it's one that's worth taking. If she found out that the possibility had been there at one point and you hadn't said anything to her, it'd be like-"

"A betrayal." She finished for him, giving a single, slow nod of her head. "Yeah." And there had been enough betrayal in their relationship already. Myka didn't want to associate that word with H.G. Wells ever again, not after retiring it so long ago. She wouldn't dredge it up again, despite the risks.

Maybe it was natural to have doubts, but it wasn't something Myka was used to. She was always so sure of everything before she did it. It was fitting, she supposed.

H.G. had been throwing a wrench in her works since day one.

* * *

Even after his many, many years working in and around the Warehouse, Artie still didn't know **exactly** where everything was. He knew the general gist of it all, where things were supposed to be. The problem was that they didn't always stay there. There were a number of artifacts housed on the shelves that seemed to relish moving things from one place to another, a lot of them having been found during suspected poltergeist investigations, and they acted up without any kind of warning. And since nutralizer maintenance only went so far, there was no way to properly secure such artifacts and he was forced to let them get on with it, leaving the hunting down of it for later.

So it was not entirely out of the ordinary for Claudia to find the man prowling the aisles on his steampunk segway, muttering to himself about wayward artifacts and looking a bit like a homeless man. Only with a segway.

"What did you lose now?" She said, abruptly appearing around the corner of an aisle and forcing him to stop. He jerked to a halt and closed his eyes for a moment before glaring at her.

"**Don't** do that." He snapped. "You're going to give me a heart attack. One day you're going to kill me." She threw him a mock pout.

"Please, you're like a cockroach. The apocalypse could ravage the world and you'd still be here." He furrowed his wiry eyebrows at her.

"Thank you for that touching comparison." He swung a little on the segway, turning to face the aisle he'd stopped in front of and beginning to scour the shelves. "And I didn't lose anything. Things keep walking off." Claudia hummed and moved over to the shelf he was looking at. She spent a few seconds aimlessly searching and he eyed her in his periphery.

"So-"

"And there it is." He interrupted, a small, knowing smile turning his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him but continued on.

"Do you think H.G. will do it?" He blew out a breath and gave a half shrug of his shoulders.

"I don't know if the Regents will even allow it." Claudia's expression shifted, mild disbelief shadowing her features.

"Will that really make a difference?" It wasn't as though Artie had never defied them before. He turned the segway again so that he was facing her and she had to jerk her feet out of the way of his wheels. He didn't seem to notice.

"I've already gone against their wishes just by sending Myka to see her." He admitted, rubbing the palm of his hand against his cheek. "The ramifications could be extensive. For all of us." She didn't seem overly bothered by his warning even after the last bit that he'd tacked on with a blunt pointedness.

"We've all done things we shouldn't have to save people we love." She said. "It's like... The greater good or something."

"Yes, well, there's a lot more to consider here than the usual. We've saved thousands, maybe millions of peoples lives with H.G.'s help. If the time line is altered and she isn't here to help with those things..." He trailed off, not seeing a need to finish. Claudia fiddled with a badge of her jacket for a few moments, thinking.

"They'll figure it out." She glanced up to find his eyes on her, gaze questioning. "That's kind of what they do, right? They figure things out together."

She was right, of course. Even back before he'd trusted H.G. about as far as he could throw her he had seen it. The way she and Myka worked together. Like two pieces of a machine that had finally come together to work fluidly and flawlessly. He'd hated it of course, even more so when his gut instinct had been proven right, but it was there nonetheless. Irrefutably.

And so maybe Claudia was right. Maybe they would figure it out together.

He was only a little surprised to realise that he hoped they would.

* * *

Myka wasn't scared of flying, she had never been the kind of person to hold the armrests in a white-knuckled grip during take off, but it wasn't her idea of fun. When they flew together she always let Pete take the window seat, not just because he was an overgrown child and whined if he didn't get it, but because she didn't get any kind of enjoyment from looking down at the earth from thousands of feet above its surface. It unnerved her, being so far off solid ground, and she spent most flights counting down the minutes until touch down. During this particular flight she found herself wondering, not for the first time, if there was an artifact that allowed for teleportation over vast distances, but the numerous side effects that she conjured up inevitably talked her out of any hypothetical usage of such a thing. But she was impatient, despite the hours she could spend (and had spent) hidden away on a steak out, and the idea still appealed to that side of her.

As far as flights went though the one to Wisconsin didn't drag on as long as she'd felt others had in the past and there was no turbulence to speak of. So when she departed the plane and began to navigate her way down to baggage claim, the only lingering nerves she felt were down to what she was here to do and who she was here to see.

She joined the small throng of people at the carousel and waited for the conveyor belt to start moving, digging in her pocket for her phone and switching it back on. After a minute or so she was greeting with a number of notification sounds and she thumbed the touch screen, bringing the phone to life. They were all text messages; three from Pete, one from Claudia and another, surprisingly, from Artie. She hadn't known he even knew what texting was, let alone how to navigate a phone long enough to punch one out.

"_stop panicking"_, _"you're panicking, i can feel it"_, _"it'll be fine mykes"_.

She smiled as Pete's messages and thumbed her way into the screen for Claudia's.

_"Tell HG I say hi!"_

They'd been close, once upon a time. When things were simultaneously more easy and somehow harder. Different. Artie's message almost made her laugh out loud, but she managed to hide it under the sound of the conveyor belt whirring to life.

_"if she asks, my shoulder is fine."_

Who knew he had a sense of humour?

She spotted her suitcase sliding down the shoot after about fifteen minutes of waiting and hauled it off the carousel when it made its way around to her, then she headed outside to hail a cab. One swung in to stop beside the curb at her first wave and she let the driver take her bag and haul it into the trunk as she climbed into the back. She gave him the address that she'd memorised during their first excursion and then they were off.

* * *

Wisconsin was pretty. Myka had decided that the first time she had visited, years before, and the area in which H.G. lived was especially so. The kind of picturesque suburbs that Hollywood movies about soccer moms had made popular. She could quite easily imagine a person wanting to settle down here, start a family, maybe have a dog or two. Nice gardens with meticulously kept flower beds, lawns that get mowed every Sunday and annual street-wide bake sales.

H.G. wasn't so easily slotted into the idyllic tranquillity of it all. At least, it wasn't easy for Myka to picture. Even now, after having months to adjust to the idea, it still didn't sit well. Still felt wrong.

But that wasn't why she was here and she'd promised herself that she wouldn't touch that particular subject after last time.

The cab made its last turn onto a familiar street and Myka felt her heart rate speed up. For all the thinking she had done over this, she hadn't considered what her initial plan of action would be. What she would say to H.G. when the woman opened the door, if she was even home.

A jolt of something like fear ran through her. Because what if she wasn't home? What if Nate was? What if they'd gone away for the weekend together and Myka was stuck waiting around in a hotel room she would have to rent until they got home? The list could have gone on forever and it might have, had the cab not pulled up next to the house that Myka still had trouble associating with H.G. and put the car into park.

"Well, here we are." He said, flashing a smile at her in the rear view mirror and getting out to grab her suitcase out of the trunk. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and stepped out of the car. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a wallet, liberating a few bills and handing him enough for the trip and a little extra for his trouble. He tipped the flat cap he was wearing and slid back into the driver's seat. She watched as he drove away and then turned to face the house.

"Here I am." She sighed to herself and then popped the extending handle on the suitcase, before making her way up along the driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

Myka stopped in front of the door and set the suitcase on all four wheels. She reached up to fiddle with her curls and then spent far longer than was necessary just watching the wooden surface as though waiting for the thing to provide her with all the answers to her mental questions. It didn't of course and she knew eventually she'd have to move, do something other than simply stand there. She couldn't quite get her body to cooperate however and just convincing her brain to lift her arm and knock was a feat in and of itself.

She wasn't sure where exactly the trepidation was stemming from; if it was simply seeing the other woman after so long or the foreboding thought of actually having to explain everything to her. They'd talked about coffee and seeing each other again, but they hadn't laid eyes on one another since Myka's last impromptu visit. They had spoken twice on the phone, but things had been strange and strained across the distance and Myka hadn't enjoyed the feeling. It wasn't the same. Nothing was.

A thing that had never been more evident than it was at that moment, as Myka stared at the door and finally lifted her hand.

She knocked before she could talk herself out of it and felt her heart begin to hammer as she waited. She still had no idea what she was going to say, how she was even going to begin, and they'd never been much for actually talking. So many of the moments that Myka remembered, the ones she didn't allow herself to think about yet inevitably gravitated towards whenever she forgot to stop herself, had been largely silent. Things passing between them by way of lingering gazes and body language that was impossibly familiar. But when they did talk, their words were always charged. With what, Myka hadn't been able to name for the longest time. It had made things hurt, made things effortless and easy, made everything **more**.

And then it was gone, along with the woman herself, and the absence had left Myka feeling hollow in a way that differed from all the times she'd felt the feeling before.

The sound of muffled footsteps made Myka swallow reflexively and shift on the spot, then the door was being pulled open.

"Oh." Myka glanced down. "I know you." Adelaide was peering up at her from between a gap in the door that was just wide enough for her to stand in. The girl smiled. "You're the friend from college!" Myka's own smile was tremulous but she managed to keep it in place.

"That's right." She said, then because she thought she ought to give a formally greeting, "Hi again." Adelaide offered a happy wave. "Is your..." Myka swallowed again, brow creasing ever so slightly as she struggled over what to call the woman she was looking for. "Is she home?" The girl turned her head to look over her shoulder and called out. Myka felt her body stiffen and her jaw clench against her will, her fingers fisted and flexed at her sides as she waited.

"Who is it, darling?" The disembodied voice floated to her along the hall to drop something like lead into the pit of her stomach and then Adelaide was moving aside.

And there she was.

"Myka." She looked as shocked as Myka inexplicably felt at seeing her. Loose fitting shirt and slacks, dark hair left down to lay across her shoulders; just like she remembered.

"Hey, Helena." It was an awkward greeting, complete with an equally awkward half-wave that Myka instantly felt foolish for giving. She flashed a self conscious smile and then gripped the handle of the suitcase to give one of them something to do.

There was a moment that stretched too long in which Helena stared at Myka with clear bemusement, completely taken aback by her sudden appearance, but then Adelaide returned to Myka's field of view to tug at Helena's shirt.

"Aren't you going to invite her in?" She asked in a stage whisper and Helena's expression suddenly shifted, a too-wide smile stretching her lips.

"Of course!" She said, as though the idea had completely escaped her. "Do come in." And she stepped back, opening the door wide and allowing Myka into the hallway.

The house was just as she remembered, with perhaps a few more photographs of Helena and her new family lining the walls, and as Myka passed by them on her way to the living room she felt herself growing increasingly more nervous.

"I'll put the kettle on." She told Myka. "Make yourself comfortable." She took a seat on the same chair she'd used during her last visit and smiled at Adelaide as the girl sat down across from her.

"Are you here about a curiosity?" Myka blinked at her, surprised.

"Oh, um," she paused, floundering for something to say. "No. Not this time."

"Just a visit then?" Myka swallowed. She hadn't anticipated being grilled this early on and by someone so small. She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. "That's nice. Helena talks about you a lot." Myka's hands clenched at her kneecaps.

"Does she?" Adelaide hummed in the affirmative.

"She sometimes tells me stories about the adventures you went on together, now that we're allowed to know who she really is." Adelaide rolled her eyes in a self-reprimanding manner, as if she'd had to correct herself in the same way too many times before. "Who she was."

And Myka had to remind herself again that this H.G. wasn't the same as the one she'd gotten to know during her time at Warehouse 13. Nor was she the same as the one she'd gotten to know as a holographic projection. Myka wasn't sure how to talk to this version of the woman and while Myka had dodged bullets and protected the President himself, that thought made her palms sweat in a way that was foreign to her despite her vast experience.

"Adelaide." Helena was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes intent on the two of them. "I do believe you have homework that needs to be done before your kempo lessons." The girl ducked her head sheepishly and nodded, bidding Myka a goodbye and disappearing into the hallway. Myka heard feet on the stairs and then the sound of a door opening and closing, and then they were alone.

She could feel Helena watching her and it took Myka a few seconds before she felt herself ready to look her way, afraid the other woman would somehow preemptively sense why she was here and that conversation would start before she was ready.

"Hey." Myka said and Helena's lips curved into a teasing smirk, dark eyes watching her suspiciously.

"Yes you said that already." The sound of the kettle boiling gave Myka another welcome reprieve as the other woman went to prepare, she assumed, tea for them. She couldn't stop her mind from racing, from going over everything she could potentially say to Helena again and again, and it left her none the wiser as to how exactly she was going to explain it all. She was so beside herself by the time Helena returned that she had to clench her jaw against the urge to blurt everything out and get it over with. H.G. deposited a tray carrying two cups and a plate of biscuits on the table between the couch and where Myka was sitting.

"Thanks." She said as Helena slid one of the cups towards her with a finger.

"My pleasure." Helena took a seat on the couch and stirred a cube of sugar into her tea. "I must say, it's quite a surprise to have you sitting in my living room."

"Yeah," Myka breathed, an apology already forming on her lips, "I'm sorry. I should have called or-" Helena waved a hand dismissively.

"Nonsense." She lifted the cup by the handle and took a sip. "You're always welcome here." Myka covered her discomfort by mimicking Helena's actions. She hoped the sentiment would still ring true after she'd said what she had come here to say.

"How's Nate? Adelaide?" She asked after a moment and Helena's expression warmed.

"Well. Nate just received a promotion at work and Adelaide brought home a spectacular report card." There was a kind of glimmer in her gaze as she spoke, something that looked like pride. Like happiness. "We went out last night to celebrate. There's a wonderful little restaurant in town that serves the most delectable Asian cuisine I've ever tasted." And it all sounded so normal to Myka. So peacefully normal and exactly what Helena had claimed she wanted. A quiet life, a family, away from the Warehouse.

Maybe Myka had been wrong in her decision.

"And you? How have you been?" Helena asked, bending to retrieve the plate of biscuits and, presumably, offer one to Myka.

"I had cancer." The plate slipped from Helena's grasp and dropped the few centimetres back to the tray top with a clatter. Her head snapped up and she gazed at Myka, jaw slack and expression unreadable. Immediately, Myka felt silly. "I'm sorry." She said again, lifting a hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Wow, that was, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just say it like-" Helena's hand in hers stopped the sentence in its tracks.

"Cancer?" She had shift to lean over the arm of the couch, reaching out to Myka and taking one hand in both of hers. "Are you all right?" Her thumb drifted over Myka's knuckles and Helena was looking at her with so much concern that for a moment Myka didn't know how to respond. She was so used to doing everything herself, keeping things quiet and buried. They were alike in that. That was the reason she had kept it secret so long and why she hadn't known how to tell Pete, or what to do once she had.

"I'm fine." She said with an embarrassed smile and Helena's hand tightened its grip for a second. "The surgery went well and the tumour was benign. The doctor says I'll make a full recovery, so aside from being a little sore, I'm good." Helena breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes in a show of silent gratitude. Grief and sorrow drew lines across her face and Myka could only wonder what she was thinking and feeling. "I didn't want to worry you. That's why I never..." Called, wrote, visited; Myka wasn't sure what to say and she let the sentence hang so that Helena could fill in the blank herself.

"Perfectly understandable." She murmured and the way in which she said it made Myka believe that it was, despite having felt guilty when she hadn't told anyone. "I assume everyone at the Warehouse knows?" Myka tilted her head slowly from side to side.

"They do now. I didn't tell anyone at first." Helena regarded her for a moment, thoughtfully and with what was perhaps remorse.

"That must have been dreadfully difficult." Myka gave a half shrug.

"I needed to be alone with it for a while, you know?" Helena nodded. "It was all so surreal. I don't think I believed it at first. I thought they must have made some kind of mistake, because I wasn't done yet. There were so many things I wanted to..." She swallowed, suddenly emotional, and tapered off. Helena's hand gave hers another gentle squeeze and she felt comfort in the pressure. Reassurance. And it helped her go on. "But going through that made me look at things different. Made me reconsider... Everything. What's really important."

"Yes I imagine it would." She said, a serious edge to her voice. Myka knew she could relate, knew Helena had had more time alone with her thoughts, time to reevaluate, than most people did in a lifetime. In two lifetimes.

"And I don't mean just for me." Myka continued carefully and she watched as Helena's posture stiffened. She could practically feel an argument forming on the other woman's lips, the very same one they'd had last time, and so Myka pressed on before it could be voiced. "My friends, family, the people I love. I don't want to keep going through life missing chances and I don't want anyone else to either." Helena released a heavy sigh and drew her hand back.

"Myka, we've already discussed this..." But Myka shook her head.

"I know that Claudia keeps in touch with you." Helena gave her a strange look then, the apparent shift in topics throwing her a little, and Myka felt a sharp pain in her chest as she spoke the next words. Imagined, but painful all the same. "Better than I have." Helena remained silent, her unfaltering gaze saying everything for her, and Myka had no idea if the route she had picked was the right one but it was all she had in the moment. "How much did she tell you about our last brush with the end of the world?" Helena shook her head, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

"I know that Paracelsus was unbronzed but Myka, I don't want to be part of that world any-"

"He fixed your time machine, Helena." It was out before she could even think about holding it in and H.G. stared at her, lips parted in shock. "He perfected it." There was another long beat of silence and then Helena laughed. Sharp and short; it was so unexpected that it almost made Myka jump in seat.

"That's ridiculous." She insisted, head shaking her disbelief. "Physical time travel is an impossibility. I spent **years **trying to find a way, to think that someone could simply waltz in and..." Her mouth worked for a few seconds, no sound leaving her. "And suddenly have... What do you mean, perfected?" Myka took a breath at the sound of Helena's ire bubbling to the surface. This was what she had been afraid of. She licked her lips and considered her next words.

"He made it work, exactly like you wanted it to." She tried to avoid seeing the hurt expression that passed over the other woman's face. "He was obsessed with changing the timeline so that he could stay in control of the Warehouse. He combined artifacts with the time machine and travelled back to Warehouse 9. He wanted to change things, kill the regents so that he could remain as Caretaker right up until Warehouse 13. And he did it." Tentatively, Myka reached across the short space between them and rested her hand on Helena's arm, speaking softly. "He made it work." She said again. Helena blinked at her and then she was standing.

"Of course." She muttered, exasperated, running her fingers through her hair. "Why did I never consider..." She seemed to lose herself then, murmuring low enough that Myka couldn't catch what she was saying, and so she waited. For Helena's heart to catch up to her mind, for realisation to strike. She felt her nerves swell again and braced herself for the moment, though she knew that all of the readying in the world wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't make the look of pain and hopefulness she expected to see any easier to take.

It took a minute or so. And then Helena stopped dead mid-pace and snapped around to face Myka, eyes wide and expression exactly as Myka had pictured it. Shadows of old wounds reopened danced across her face and all at once Myka felt guilt and relief flood her.

"I told Artie," Myka began before H.G. could say anything, "that I thought you should know. That maybe..." It didn't need to be said and Myka felt suddenly uneasy at the thought of voicing Christina's name. "The Regents are discussing it now. They'll meet with Mrs Frederic in a few days and then she'll come to us with their final decision. And I know that there are so many things to consider but..." She sighed and held Helena's gaze. "I thought you should, that you **needed** to know. If anyone knows about the ramifications of time travel, it's you, and if there's even a chance that it could work-"

"Thank you." Helena's gratitude was quietly spoken, almost a whisper, but it broke through Myka's speech like a landslide through thin ice. Her dark eyes shone with something that Myka wouldn't even hazard a guess at. "Thank you for telling me." Myka could only offer a tremulous smile in response.

Helena took her seat once more and exhaled heavily. Myka let the strange silence befall them without argument, content to allow Helena time to process all she had told her. The other woman's gaze had wondered from her and instead had become focused on a spot just beyond the coffee table between them, her thumb absently flicking the ring on her left ring finger in slow, methodical circles as she thought.

"I know that this is going to be a hard decision." Myka said and Helena let out a mirthless huff of laughter before hunching forward and running the fingers of both hands through her hair again. "But I know you," she swallowed thickly, recalling a clearing in Wyoming and the thought of losing H.G. forever, "and I know that whatever decision you decide to make will be the right one." Helena tilted her head to look at Myka and regarded her curiously for a long moment.

"I hope you're right." She said with a sigh. "I do so hope you're right."

* * *

Pete, quietly munching on one half of a croissant, approached Claudia where she was sitting at the dining table and peered at the laptop screen over her shoulder.

"Whatcha doin'?" He said in a sing-song voice and she jumped in her seat, throwing a murderous look over her shoulder.

"Dude, don't do that." He grinned at her and she turned back to the computer. "I'm just going over some stuff." He eyed the back of her head suspiciously, taking another bite of his food and chewing it slowly for a moment.

"Time travely stuff?" Her fingers stilled on the keys for an instant.

"Maybe." And the rapid clicking resumed. He pulled out a chair from beside her and sat himself down, happily ignoring the rolling of her eyes as he glanced sidelong at the screen and silently waited. It was only when his persistent table tapping became too much for her to take that she looked at him again. "What?"

"Nothing." He protested, eyes wide and crumbs flying from his full mouth. She grimaced.

"You're such a pig." She said and he beamed at her, half-chewed pastry showing between his teeth. He mumbled something about love that she didn't quite catch and was content to ignore and then pointed to the screen.

"Allegany field? Hey, that's where-" The sound of the front door opening cut him off and both he and Claudia turned their heads towards the sound. They caught sight of a familiar jacket being taken off and hung and could see the side of Myka's small suitcase standing against the wall. Claudia reached up and grasped the laptop lid, closing it with a click and stealing Pete's attention for a second. Claudia's gaze never wavered though and she watched as Myka rounded the doorway and entered the living room.

Alone.

Pete turned to look at her and Claudia felt her expression fall.

"Is she...?" Pete started, but tapered off when he saw the look on Myka's face. It wasn't simple sadness that shadowed it but something far more profound, something more deeply felt, and it made his own heart ache to look at her. Myka gave a slow shake of her head.

Helena had not come back with her.


End file.
